


Invenire

by kameo_chan



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kameo_chan/pseuds/kameo_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair knows that they will both regret this sooner or later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invenire

He knows they will both regret this sooner or later, but for the moment, Daylen is spread out beneath him, wanton and willing and all too tempting for Alistair to think straight. The irony of their situation lingers in the back of his mind like a stubborn patch of fog, and he would laugh at the absurdity were it not for the sense that he is drowning, sinking down to depths unknown and unexplored. Here they are, former keeper and former captive. Only now they are both Grey Wardens, and the bonds that would have once constricted them are now their only ties to a communal loss too great and terrible to properly voice.

"Alistair," Daylen breathes against his shoulder, and the words go straight to his groin. He does not recall ever being this aroused, not even when he'd skipped out on the Midday Chant one afternoon to watch the peasant girls of the nearby village bathing in the creek. So to remedy the situation, he bears down on Daylen, crushes his mouth with furious, needy kisses and allows himself to slip. And Daylen is there to catch him, pressing back ready and eager and parting his legs, opening his heart.

And Alistair is afraid, genuinely afraid even as he sinks into the inviting heat of Daylen's body, hilt-deep. Because in all times previous, whenever he'd opened his heart and allowed for hope, it had been cut down; sometimes mercilessly. They have both lost so much, he knows, and to gain this only to lose it all over again will break the both of them as cleanly as sheared steel.

But Daylen encircles him with arms much stronger than they look and draws him closer into the embrace; breath coming in short, hot pants against his ear. And all other thoughts scatter in the face of that pure need. Alistair moves, thrusts until his thighs burn and his eyes sting, until he's dizzy and sure that Daylen will break in half any moment now.

"Maker's breath, Alistair!" Daylen curses softly, and with a slick spurt spends himself across both their chests. And that is all it takes for Alistair to lose control. He comes with a hoarse cry, hands fisted tightly in Daylen's hair, feeling the press of the other man's softening, sticky length against the tight, straining muscles of his stomach; the warm wetness of Daylen's orgasm pooling against his torso.

When his breathing returns to normal and his vision clears, he catches Daylen's eye. He has always been difficult to fathom, his eyes serene and somehow unsettling, but trusting all the same and now is no different. Alistair finds comfort in the familiarity of the look Daylen gives him and thinks to himself that he could lose himself in that gaze for the rest of eternity.

"Finally licked the lamp post," he murmurs almost absent-mindedly, pressing a kiss to Daylen's jaw and marveling at the motion under his lips when the other man chuckles quietly.

"So we have," Daylen whispers back, and Alistair wishes that his heart would stop pounding, that his head would stop spinning with elation and terror and a million other little things. For the first time in his life, he wishes he'd been born a mage, so that he might freeze time itself to prevent the moment from passing. But he wasn't and cannot, and so instead he presses his face to the hollow of Daylen's throat and whispers against his skin the words he cannot bring himself to say aloud.

_I need you._

And in the silence that follows his quiet not-quite-declaration, Daylen traces runes on his shoulder. Alistair remembers the shape of them from times spent in the Chantry Library. He recalls telling Morrigan that there aren't any stupid Templars, a statement true enough at face value. Not that he would know, since he'd never been one, not really. The runes are the characters for Destiny and Love. And for now, they mean more than words can tell.

They fall asleep soon after, twined around each other like sapling roots, and sleep until well after sunrise.


End file.
